


wish your heartbreak wasn't on the radio

by and_hera



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: ??? kinda, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, gay people real fucked up if true, sammy when jack disappears and sammy when emily disappears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_hera/pseuds/and_hera
Summary: “Well,” Lily said, “maybe you finally know what it’s like to be left behind, Sammy.”or, Sammy in the wake of losing people.
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens, Sammy Stevens/Jack Wright (background)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	wish your heartbreak wasn't on the radio

**Author's Note:**

> i've been relistening to kfam and this is what i get. upset over sammy-ben parallels in which they look for their loved ones.  
> i'm so mad at myself i really said no women in this one.... i'm sorry i'll write something for lily soon to make up for it  
> i hope u enjoy pls leave comments and kudos they fuel me! come talk to me @lcvelaces on twitter!! take care of yourselves friends <3  
> title from 21 by jenna holiday, a very sammy song

Sammy called Lily after Jack was gone.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision. Jack was gone, Jack was fucking gone and Sammy couldn’t do anything, really. He tripped over the bag in the entryway and found the car running in the driveway and he just sort of sat down on the porch. He didn’t need to look. Jack was gone.

So, he called Lily, because she was just about the only other person he loved besides Jack Wright. She was just about the only other person in his phone.

She didn’t pick up the first time he called, or the second, but she did the third time, with only one ring to spare. “What do you want, Stevens,” she said, cutting as ever.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“What?” Lily asked, and Sammy explained it all, told her about the calls and the signs and the whispers at night and the keys in the ignition. He sat on the porch, barely holding his phone with his shaking hands, and told her everything.

There was a moment of silence after he finished talking, and he felt like he deserved it.

“Well,” Lily said, “maybe you finally know what it’s like to be left behind, Sammy.”

When Emily hangs up, Sammy feels a pit in his stomach like the one when he found the car running, but he doesn’t dwell on it because there is Ben, sobbing and trying desperately to call her back. Sammy gets them off the air.

That night, Sammy drives Ben home, leaving Ben’s car at the station. He almost turns to Rose’s, his hands so used to heading to their post-show breakfast, but he doesn’t, and his hands aren’t shaking this time. Ben’s are. Ben is silent. He doesn’t turn the radio on, and Sammy is grateful for it.

There is an opportunity here that Sammy knows he can’t miss, so he makes sure Ben buckles his seatbelt and drives slower than he normally would through the still sleepy town. He walks Ben into his apartment and throws a blanket around his shoulders because he knows Ben won’t be taking care of himself. 

There is an opportunity here that Sammy cannot ignore, cannot avoid. Here is Ben, broken and bleeding, and Sammy has the chance to help, for once. Here is Ben and for once, Sammy knows exactly how he feels. Here is Ben, and here is Sammy, and here is Jack in Sammy's heartbeat.

“Ben,” Sammy says, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Ben’s face is blank, his eyes are hollow, fingernails that are perpetually bitten clinging to the blanket and twisting it around. His knee is bouncing. “I just- I don’t know what to do,” he says. “I don’t know what to do. She’s gone, and it’s because she was coming to see _me_ -”

“To see us,” Sammy says, “and I know. It’s- right now, you need to rest, Ben. Sleep. Take care of yourself.”

“She’s not fucking dead,” he returns, fire lighting up his eyes, and Sammy nods. “She’s not. She’s just- gone.”

“She’s not dead,” Sammy agrees. “But you aren’t doing her any good right now. You should try and rest.” Sammy knows he won’t be able to sleep. “I can bring you some food if you want, anything you need, Ben.”

“No,” Ben says, “no, I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” Sammy says.

Ben closes his eyes. “I’ll be fine, though. You should go home.”

Sammy knows nowhere in King Falls is home, but he nods anyway. “Okay. Call me if you need _anything_ , okay? Anything at all. I want to help you.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Ben says.

Sammy doesn’t go home. He drives into one of the many fields around King Falls and sits on the windshield of his car and looks at the sky and decidedly does not reach into his jacket pocket to feel the gold band sitting inside. Emily Potter is up there, apparently. Emily Potter is in the stars, not in this world, and she left behind a library and a man and a world she loved. Loves? Loved.

Sammy doesn’t sleep, because there is a gap between his fingers that should be filled by someone else’s hand and an empty car that should have a someone else tapping his fingers on the dashboard to some unknown song and talking about making pancakes for dinner because it’s not like anyone can stop them.

“This place steals people, doesn't it,” he says, and the air doesn’t answer. 

Lily hung up on him and there was nothing he could do about that. Sammy was alone, because he never bothered to make friends besides his fiancé and his fiancé’s sister, and the former was gone and the latter wasn’t on speaking terms with him. Sammy was alone, and he was sitting on his porch with Jack’s car running and shaky hands and a bag through the open door behind him.

He didn’t move for a long time, because if he moved it would disturb the perfect stillness of the scene around him. If he moved, he wouldn’t be a part of the picture, wouldn’t be just a character in the painting of loss.

And then he did move, and took the keys from the ignition and closed the car doors and walked back into his house and cried.

The brand new calendar was hanging on the wall by the kitchen counter, the one that Jack put up yesterday despite it not being 2015 yet. Jack always crossed off the days, even when he wasn’t fully around and talking, but yesterday? Jack was alive. Jack kissed Sammy when the clock struck midnight, and things were okay. Jack had been more and more distant, and Sammy had been more and more worried, but yesterday Jack Wright was alive again. Yesterday, Jack crossed December 31st off the calendar a few hours early and put up a new one.

And today he was gone, whispers of his voice coming through the air conditioning and his breath down Sammy’s spine. The calendar was hanging on the wall and it mocked him. Sammy took it down.

Everything was carefully abandoned and perfectly arranged. The notebooks on his desk by the bed were ever-so-slightly askew and a corner of the blue one hung off the edge. The alarm clock was going off, because Jack wasn’t there to turn it off almost before it even blared, goddamn early riser. Sammy didn’t remember hearing it when he woke up. He didn’t turn it off, because everything was so quiet and he didn’t want to lose the only sound besides his footsteps against the carpet.

The house was a story of letting someone go, and Sammy felt like he should let him go.

On May 2, 2016, Ben Arnold shows up for work, and Sammy doesn’t let him through the station doors.

“Sammy,” Ben says furiously, “I have to be here! What if she calls! Like _Tim_ ! Sammy, I can’t miss it, I can’t miss _her_ -”

“Ben,” Sammy says, holding Ben’s wrists gently to stop him from gesturing, “hey. I’ll be here, and I’ll be listening, and I’ll call you if anything happens, but listen to me, man. You aren’t fit to be on the air.”

Ben opens his mouth in fake surprise. “Really? You’re saying that I’m not fit to be on the air just because the girl I- because my- because Emily was stolen on air yesterday? Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy, of course I’m not okay! But I _have_ to be here!”

Sammy looks him dead in the eyes. “Ben. There are two reasons I’m not letting you into the studio. One, you will not make any kind of good broadcast tonight while you’re like this. Two-”

“What the _fuck_ , man, that’s uncalled for-”

“ _Two_ ,” Sammy continues, not getting angry, “I care about you. I’m not going to let you run yourself ragged. You shouldn’t come in today because mentally, it isn’t a good idea!”

Ben sighs and his whole body slumps with him. “I just- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Sammy. She was coming to see us. She was coming to see _me_ , and-”

“She was coming to see us,” Sammy says stubbornly, “and it wasn’t your fault, Ben. Don’t you dare tell yourself it was your fault.”

“But it was!” Ben nearly shouts, flinging his arms out and stepping farther back into the parking lot. He looks up at the sky. “She’s up there,” he says, pointing at the stars, “and _I’m still here_ . I’m still _fucking_ here, and she’s gone, and I don’t know- I can’t do anything about it!”

Sammy steps forward in an attempt to, he doesn’t know, hug Ben? Help him? Sammy knows more than anyone else that Ben can’t be helped, not right now. “Ben,” he says, “I know how hard this is for you-”

“No, you don’t,” Ben replies steadily, and spins on his heel and walks back to his car. 

King Falls is a hotspot for people to lose their loved ones, or something like that. Because there is Tim Jensen, being stolen from his wife and kids. There is Emily Potter, being stolen from her almost-boyfriend. There is Jack Wright, being stolen from a secret fiancé and an angry sister.

King Falls is a place where people go to disappear and where people disappear from. “Hotspot for paranormal activity” Sammy’s ass. It’s a hotspot for heartbreak. A hotspot for rainbow lights and running cars and people crying out on the air.

When Jack was gone, Sammy took his ring off and never put it back on. He put it on a chain and dropped that chain in his jacket pocket and never took it out. He talked to authorities and he never said a word about what they were, but he was pretty sure they figured it out. Two guys living alone in a nice house? Two bedrooms, sure, but only one slept in. They had two of everything in case someone visited, but it’s not like they used them.

Lily wasn’t going to help him, and he understood, and it was his fault that she wasn’t going to help him anyway. It was his fault that Jack was gone, because if he had just listened and tried to understand better, he would have stayed. Jack wouldn’t have tried to go.

Sammy knows that Jack didn’t leave by his own will. The car was still there. Keys in the ignition. Engine whirring. Jack Wright noticeably absent from the scene of the crime. His duffel bag was still in the entryway, stuffed with clothes and shoes and books. So many fucking books. So many _notebooks_.

Sammy was allowed to keep it all, but he only ever opened one notebook. It was black and only a little bigger than Sammy’s palm. When he thumbed through it, there was Jack’s messy, blocky handwriting, filling in the lines. The thing was as organized as their show used to be, numbers and bullet points and references to other books and other notebooks. He saw mentions of Shadows and Doors and he closed the notebook.

He hasn’t touched Jack’s things since, and he doesn’t plan to.

There is a fire in Ben’s eyes that worries Sammy and there is a hollowness to Ben’s words that worries Sammy more. Ben is so fucking quiet. He isn’t still, because Sammy doesn’t think the man knows how to be still, but he’s quiet. He isn’t talking and saying every thought that comes to mind like he normally does. Ben cracks his knuckles and when they’re cracked keeps trying to do it again and chews on his lip.

“Anything I can get for you boys?” Rose asks, voice sweet as honey, but clearly concerned. She approaches their table so she’s behind Ben, and meets Sammy’s eyes over his head. 

“We’re alright,” Sammy says nicely, and Ben blinks. 

“Actually,” Ben says, “I’d like another coffee, if you don’t mind, Rose.”

She raises an eyebrow at Sammy. “Benny-”

“ _Ben_.”

Rose huffs. “Right, I’m sorry, Ben. But haven’t you had enough coffee today? I’ve given you a few cups already.”

“Please,” he says, and turns to look at her. “Just as a personal favor.”

Rose nods, resigned. “Alright,” she says, and Ben turns back around and looks at his hands. She mouths to Sammy _take care of him_ , and Sammy nods slightly. She spins away, skirt swaying.

“Ben,” Sammy says, and Ben looks at him with a knowing look that’s almost a smile.

“Sammy,” Ben says in return. “I’m okay. I just haven’t been sleeping great.”

“I know,” Sammy says. 

Ben scoffs. “Jeez, do I look that bad? I thought I was covering up the bags under my eyes pretty well, actually.”

“You’re wearing glasses! I didn’t even know you had glasses until now, you always wear contacts!”

He cracks a smile. “Well, does it distract from the bags?”

Sammy rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Sure. I was too preoccupied with your sweet frames to notice how little you’ve been sleeping, Arnold.”

Ben sighs. Rose brings him the coffee and disappears without a word. He stares at it. “Sammy,” he says, “where do we go from here?”

Sammy doesn’t know. Sammy has been asking himself the same question for more than a year. “The only place we can go,” he says. “Up.”

There was an investigation, of course, because a man is missing! A man with a career, with a life ahead of him! He was only 32, still young, living with his best friend and co host of acclaimed Shotgun Saturday Nights, Sammy Stevens. 

Except, Sammy didn’t bother to hide their life together, and yet no one bothered him about it openly. They had to know, but no one brought it up. He got looks, pointed glances, but he was mostly left alone. He got to keep his things. He moved to an apartment, which was good, because Sammy didn’t think he could keep living in the ghost of a life with a ghost of a man whispering, always right behind him.

There’s an investigation, and Lily arrived, once. She saw the house, the car, saw Sammy.

“Stevens,” she said sharply. She’s always sharp. Her elbows stick out and her cheekbones are prominent. Her breath smelled like liquor. “So. He’s really gone, isn’t he.”

He doesn’t answer. What can he say?

“Our- my parents are coming down, I think. You should probably be gone by then. They don’t mind that… you know, but only when there wasn’t a boyfriend involved.”

Sammy wanted to correct her, wanted to say _fiancé_ , to say _we were going to get married, Lily, we wanted to be happy and make a life for ourselves_ , but he didn't. There wasn’t a ring on his finger, and that meant it never existed in the first place.

“You going to say anything?” Lily asked, and her cheaply dyed red hair was matted like she hadn’t brushed it in days. “Got any words for me, Shotgun?”

“No,” Sammy said, and his voice was hoarse “I’m sorry.”

She scoffed. “Those count as words,” she replied, “and I don’t forgive you.”

Producing a show is a lot more work than Sammy had previously assumed. He schedules interviews, tries to find people to talk to, does his best to create a planned night every night. Ben shows up, but it’s more like Sammy usually is, a few minutes before the broadcast and leaving right after. They go to Rose’s, but not as much.

Sammy visits Ben’s house a lot. Ben probably wishes Sammy wasn’t there as much as he is, but Sammy can’t help it. Here is Ben, a man who has lost the woman he loves so deeply, and here is Sammy, a man who has lost the man he loves so deeply, and Sammy can do something about it this time. Sammy can be to Ben who he needed from someone back then so desperately. 

The problem is that Sammy doesn’t entirely know how to do this. When Jack was gone, another producer stepped up and did the work. Sammy didn’t have to. The days are a blur of misogyny and fear, and Sammy actively tries to not think about it. He doesn’t remember exactly what he wanted to hear, what he needed people to help him with.

But now he has to remember. Here is Ben, living through what he did. So Sammy texts him twice a day to make sure he’s eaten meals and if he hasn’t, Sammy comes over and makes something for him. So Sammy visits to go over a schedule with him before they both drive to the station under the guise of making sure things look right to the producer. 

In-between it all is Jack, breathing down Sammy’s neck, tapping rhythms onto Sammy’s dashboard through Ben’s fingers. When Sammy flexes his hand he expects to feel Jack’s fingers slide between his own; when Sammy looks over at the producer’s seat he expects to see Jack’s easy smile. He is the guilt Sammy tastes under his tongue and the knot between his ribs. Sammy works around him, works around Jack, but it feels like a very special kind of betrayal. The alarm clock still wakes him up in the morning because Jack isn’t there to shut it off.

Sammy loves Emily. Emily is his friend. She’s a beautiful woman and a kind woman and she is more than anyone gives her credit for. But sometimes it feels like he’s saving the wrong person, and he can’t tell if he hates himself more for thinking that or not finding Jack in the first place.

Probably both. He helps Ben anyway.

Sammy told the station that Jack had run away, and then Jack was missing, and then Jack was gone, fucked off to God knows where. Then he had to join him, and he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to become another story for these assholes to tell, but he had to, because he couldn’t live another day with Jack’s things in boxes in his apartment, boxes that he carefully didn’t look at for too long.

He knew what was in each box, that wasn’t the problem, they had lived together since their junior year of college as roommates so it’s not like Sammy wasn’t aware of just about every possession Jack owned. It was the fact that Jack wasn’t there to unpack them and laugh and bump his hip against Sammy’s as they walked past each other in the hallway and all the little pieces of love Jack gave out so carelessly. It was the fact that Jack couldn’t unpack with him and laugh and make Sammy laugh.

Sammy left, and he didn’t tell the station why. He became another ghost story.

Sammy put Jack’s boxes in a storage unit near King Falls, because he didn’t want them anywhere near him. He thought that maybe, if he put everything he had left of Jack somewhere away, it would mean that Jack couldn’t haunt him anymore. It would mean that Sammy wouldn’t say something sarcastic aimed at someone who wasn’t there and only hear the echo of a laugh in response. It would mean that Sammy wouldn’t accidentally make a meal for two and then sit at a too-big table with a too-big plate.

Of course, that didn’t change. Jack was still a ghost. Sammy was still achingly alone.

And then Sammy arrived at the King Falls AM station with his bags still in the car because he’s perpetually late without someone to remind him to get ready in time. He showed up with ten minutes to air. The door creaked when he opened it and he tripped walking in because he’s never been the most graceful and fell into a small man in a hoodie with curly hair, who promptly spilled his coffee all over his shoes.

“Oh my God,” Sammy said immediately, “I’m so sorry, let me get something-”

The man looked up at him, laughed incredulously, and shook his head. “Oh, it’s alright,” he said. “I’m in my old tennis shoes. Here, there are napkins in here.”

They walked to another room, one just across from the recording room where an old man smirked into a microphone with an ON AIR sign lit up. Sammy helped the guy clean off his shoes.

“Well,” he said, “that was one way to make an entrance.”

“I didn’t expect the doorframe to come off the ground,” Sammy said apologetically, “I’m so sorry-”

“Hey man, no worries,” the guy replied easily. “I’m Ben Arnold, producer of King Falls AM. I take it that you’re-”

“Sammy Stevens,” he said, and held out a hand. Ben shook it.

“Well, Sammy,” Ben said, “I’m excited to work with you. We’ve never had a big city radio host come to our little town. I’m honored, honestly!”

Sammy laughed at that. “Oh, don’t be,” he says. “Sure, _big city_ radio stations might be a little… bigger than this one, but it’s all the same radio. And I’m sure you’re a damn fine producer, Ben.”

“I really want to be a journalist,” Ben said brightly, and Sammy only heard Jack. “Like Cronkite, or Brokaw.”

“Cronkite. Brokaw. Ben Arnold,” Sammy declared, and Ben’s eyes lit up. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Ben replied, grinning, and he nodded at the recording room. “Chet should be finished up soon. Ready to head in for your first night in King Falls?”

Sammy straightened his back and smiled easily at Ben, the way Jack might have. Jack was always better with first impressions. “I think so,” he said.

“Sometimes,” Ben says, “it’s like she’s a ghost.”

“Emily?” Sammy asks.

“Emily,” Ben agrees. 

It’s quiet. It’s dark. The sleepy town doesn’t ever seem to wake but especially not now, before their show is even on the air. “I think I get that,” Sammy says. “It feels like she was never here to begin with.” Like she was only ever the breeze blowing down Main Street, like he was only ever a duffel bag tucked against the front door.

Ben hums in response. He taps his foot against the floor steadily and he slurps his coffee obnoxiously. “I feel like I can hear her sometimes. Like she’s just right behind me.”

“Sure you’re not going crazy?” Sammy jokes halfheartedly, and earns a half-smile from Ben. “But really man, I know. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

“I’m going to get her back. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“No matter the cost.”

“Yeah.”

Ben sighs. He blows into his coffee mug, making it bubble. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Cronkite. Brokaw. Ben Arnold,” says Sammy. “If anyone can make someone lost be found, I think it’s you.”


End file.
